Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Tears wet my eyes. I splashed through the water, picked up her head, and climbed out, slipping on the rocks. Her body lay on its back. What do I do? Do I put it on her neck? Do I leave it next to her?
I was holding a kid’s head in my hands and trying to figure out how best to leave it with her corpse.
Someone wailed like a hurt animal, and I realized it was me. Tears came, so many I couldn’t even see.
I put the head gently by her side, dropped to the ground next to her, and cried. I cried and screamed for Stella, for her parents, for Sanders and Anja, for their children and loved ones. I cried for Costa who was missing half of his face and for Aaron who lay in pieces.
I sobbed for all of them, all the bodies in this cave. And I cried for myself, trapped here, left to die, and for my children who might never see me again.
Bear padded over to me and lay by my side. I hugged her and cried harder. It was just the two of us, the cave, and the raw pain of my grief.
Gradually, the sobs subsided. I ran out of tears. For a while I sat there, silent, staring at Stella’s body. Slowly, very slowly, self-preservation woke up and took over. Nobody was coming for me. Nobody would help me. It was up to me.
Nothing new. I’d been on my own since I turned eighteen and my mother informed me I had two weeks to move out. Then Roger came along, but he was gone now, and I’d been on my own again for a decade since.
I could do this.
I wiped my face with my sleeve, swapped my socks for the dry pair, put on Anja’s boots, and got up.
Bear stared at me.
“Time to get a move on.”
I swung the heavy backpack onto my back and picked up Bear’s leash.
I was halfway to the tunnels when the generator sputtered and died, plunging the cavern into darkness.
4
2,119 miles away from Elmwood
Right leg hurt, left arm hurt, everything fucking hurt. There was alien slime dripping from his armor, and it stank like yesterday’s vomit.
The gate loomed in front of him. Elias McFeron stepped through it.
Blue sky. Finally.
He took a deep breath and tasted home. That first gulp of Earth’s air. There was nothing like it.
Behind him the rest of the assault team staggered out. He’d force-marched them for the last three days, all the way from the anchor chamber. It was a hard pace even for the top Talents, and it took longer than expected because the markers they had placed to guide their way through the swamp had sunk.
The first responders dashed toward him with the stretcher. Elias let them get in position, lifted Damion Bonilla off his shoulders, and carefully transferred him to it. The pulse carver’s blood-smeared face was a mask of pain.
“Thank you, Guildmaster. I’m sorry.”
Elias nodded. “Nothing to be sorry about. Rest. You’ve earned it.”
The first responders carried Bonilla off. His legs were bloody mush below the knees, but he would walk again. The healers would fix him. They fixed anything except dead if you got to them in time.
This was the last time. Elias had promised himself that every time he went into the breach, but this time he meant it. He would strip off the armor, take a long shower in his hotel, board the guild jet with the rest of his team, and go home. He would eat well, sleep in his own bed, and then in the morning he would put on a suit, go into his office, and do paperwork like a normal fucking human being. That’s where he belonged. Running the guild, which had plenty of blade wardens without him.
The medics swarmed the assault team. A young kid with a healer’s white caduceus on his jacket ran up to him. Elias waved him off and squinted at the familiar orderly chaos in front of the gate, looking for the mining crew. He’d sent a scout ahead with the orders to wrap it up. The miners were on the left, stowing their gear. He counted them out of habit. Fifteen and eight escorts. Good. Everyone was out.
A familiar tall, lean figure in a black Tom Ford suit tugged at his attention. Leo Martinez, who seemed to be born to wear elegant suits and be the public face of a guild, the only man standing still in the flurry of activity. His XO, who should’ve been back at HQ, 2,000 miles away. Something had happened.
Leo started toward him.
Elias made himself walk forward. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to deal with it but avoiding it would make things worse.
A sharp sound cut through the human clamor, like the noise of a thousand paper sheets being ripped at once magnified through concert level speakers. The gate collapsed.